Chancellor's Parashah Commentary

Parashat Va-yiggash 5757

Genesis 44:18 - 47:27
December 21, 1996 11 Tevet 5757

Ismar Schorsch is the chancellor of The Jewish Theological Seminary.

Jacob and Joseph, father and son, had been separated for 22
years. At first the exclamation of his sons that Joseph was
not only alive but ruled over all of Egypt was met with stony
silence. Jacob did not dare let their words shatter the
emotional equilibrium he had forged out of his suffering. It
was only upon seeing the vehicles of Egyptian design sent by
Joseph that Jacob softened his resistance. His spirit sprang
back to life and he insisted on leaving for Egypt immediately
to behold once again his long lost son.

Robert Alter captures the subtlety of this climactic passage in
his sensitive new translation of and commentary on Genesis:

And they went up from Egypt and they came to the
land of Canaan to Jacob their father. And they told him,
saying "Joseph is still alive," and that he was the ruler in all
the land of Egypt. And his heart stopped, for he did not
believe them. And they spoke to him all the words of Joseph
that he had spoken to them, and he saw the wagons that
Joseph had sent to convey him, and the spirit of Jacob their
father revived. And Israel said, "Enough! Joseph our son is
still alive. Let me go see him before I die" (Genesis 45:25-28).

The text turns on the interplay between the phrases "and his
heart stopped" and "the spirit of Jacob their father revived."
Jacob's initial reaction is defensive. He suppresses any
temptation to give credence to the news, being still at risk
from wounds too deep to heal. But as the circumstantial
evidence mounts, Jacob's tenseness dissipates and he springs
back to life.

The midrash, as is its wont, goes beyond the fleeting episode
to ferret out a lasting meaning from the second phrase. The
word va-tehi (from the root haya - to be alive) connotes
recovery not from a sudden shock but from an emotional state
that had become frozen. What Jacob regained at that
moment was his prophetic capacity which he had lost when
he sand into inconsolable mourning over Joseph. And indeed
that is how the Targum (the ancient and usually quite literal
Aramaic translation of the Torah) renders the phrase: "The
spirit of prophesy descended upon Jacob their father."

Profoundly, the midrash posits that depression and prophecy
are incompatible. The pall of Joseph's disappearance
(intensified by lack of closure and perhaps Jacob's own
feelings of guilt for having sent Joseph on his fateful mission
- 37:13-14) never lifted from Jacob's head. At the time he
had bitterly predicted: "No, I will go down mourning to my son
in Sheol (37:35)." The tragedy and its melancholy aftermath
thus distanced Jacob from God's presence, leaving him
without any source of comfort.

Maimonides explains our midrash by reference to a related
instance of rabbinic religious psychology. "God's presence is
never felt in a state of sadness or lethargy or levity or
conversation or distractedness, but only amid the joy of
performing a mitzva." In other words, to establish a link
between the human and the divine requires of us a concerted
effort to be in good humor. The commandments provide
occasions and vehicles for elevating our spirits. Executed with
care and beauty in the midst of friends and family, mitzvot
become a medium for uplift, sanctity and insight. In its
animus toward asceticism, Judaism puts a premium on the joy
that comes with doing a mitzva as if it were sacred theater.

The highest form of worship is attained for Maimonides only
when commandments are fulfilled in a truly joyful mood that
carries us beyond ourselves. We need to reduce our
self-absorption and shrink our egos in order to make room for
God's entry into our lives.

The example Maimonides offers is that of King David bringing
the ark of the Lord to his new capital of Jerusalem. As he
loses himself in the intensity of the holy celebration "leaping
and whirling before the Lord like a commoner," he is despised
and rebuked by his wife Michal, the daughter of his
predecessor King Saul. David administers a stinging retort: "It
was before the Lord who chose me instead of your father and
all his family and appointed me ruler over the Lord's people
Israel. I will dance before the Lord and dishonor myself even
more, and be low in our esteem; but among the slavegirls that
you speak of I will be honored (II Samuel 6:21-22)."

Maimonides goes so far as to attribute the decline of prophesy
in ancient Israel to exile. Again the dynamic, as in the case of
Jacob, is a psychological one. The insecurity and oppression
endemic to Jewish life abroad precludes the peace of mind
indispensable for direct divine communication. Whatever the
actual historical reason, Judaism never restricted the
experience of God, as opposed to revelation, to the sacred soil
of Israel. On the verse in our parasha where God addresses
Jacob before his departure for Egypt: "I Myself will go down
with you to Egypt, and I Myself will also bring you back
(46:4)," the Rabbis affixed the universal principle that,
"Wherever Israel was exiled, God's presence would
accompany them." Our state of mind is thus a more
formidable barrier to reaching God than our location. The
enemy lurks concealed within ourselves.